


Empty

by orphan_account



Category: Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice (Video Game)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Father/Son Incest, M/M, Pseudo-Incest, Size Kink, Stomach Bulging, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 17:16:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19255636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Wolf makes a mistake in his training and pays for it.((Belated birthday gift to Thor!))





	Empty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thorthelizardgod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorthelizardgod/gifts).



> Happy belated birthday to probably the first welcoming face I knew in the Sekiro fandom! Here it is, the dadson I promised more than a month ago at this point lol. The irony of posting this a day after Father's Day isn't lost on me lol
> 
> Sorryidontknowhowtotitlethings

It started simple enough.

Wolf was training again, this time back with his father as he lectured about poisons and venoms, drugs and concoctions he had to identify by heart. He brought several different types of vials, berries, powders, and leaves out, and not wanting to disappoint his father, went ahead to name each of them correctly as he smelled the liquids, bruised the leaves, squeezed the juice out from the fruits.

Not all of them are deadly, no, but any of them can harm his future master.

“Get any of them wrong, boy, and you’ll feel their bite soon enough.”

It’s an old practice amongst shinobi: imbibing minuscule amounts of poison regularly so that, in time, they are almost immune to it. Still, Wolf has no desire to carry out that practice today, and so he continued onwards.

Hemlock.

Yew.

Cyanide.

He stumbled a bit upon a white root. It looked foreign as he ran through his internal mental catalogue of non-Japanese foods. Cassava.

There are other ways to find out the identity of poisons and venoms. He nicked his finger and squeezed out a few droplets of blood, mixing it with a small amount of a clear, foul-smelling liquid. It didn’t congeal as blood ought to. Komodo dragon venom.

Contact medicine, this one made by wasp venom.

Fugu poison.

Wisteria.

His only cause for hesitation, if he hesitated at all, was to test each substance, and the one time he stumbled in his words, the glare from his father was enough to straighten his tongue.

The sun passed through a significant portion of the sky, Wolf noted through the corner of his eye as he finally reached the last substance... and was at a loss.

It’s a sort of powder, off-white in color. Loathe to inhale any of it, he instead grabbed a clay teacup filled with now-lukewarm water and dropped a pinch inside, swirling the combined contents with his finger before bringing his wet finger up to his nose for a whiff. It smelled strangely sweet, maybe even just a bit sour. The mixture was now a pastel pink too, bordering just a bit closer to a red.

He still had no idea what it was. Poisons and toxins and venoms of any sort rarely ever smell or taste sweet; whatever natural chemistry it has, it always lead to a stark bitterness.

He dared a glimpse at his father’s face, to see what he might be thinking, but it’s as stony and stoic as ever, and so he returned his own gaze towards the mystery pink substance. Better to admit defeat than flounder about for an answer he can’t guess correctly, then.

“I... don’t know what this one is, Father.”

A disgruntled grunt was all the response he was deigned to have, and so he lowered his head out of disappointment and shame, both emotions settling deeply in his gut as his foster father and instructor walks around him and picked up the teacup.

Wolf didn’t dare look up.

“Look up, boy.”

Wolf looked up, and somehow within that time frame that at once felt like a second and a century, his father had switched out the teacup with a gourd, which looked ridiculously tiny in his hands. He swallowed in his own spit out of anticipation (no, not fear) as his father neared him and knelt in front of him. Even then, he towered over Wolf, and his father had to tilt his head up so that whatever was in the gourd, which he knew was that poison he couldn’t name based on the now-pungent sweetness, can reach his mouth. “This is a unique one, developed by the shugenja from Mount Kongo,” his father growled out as the opening of the gourd neared Wolf’s mouth. He’s only heard about the shugenja, mountain dwellers in Shugendo who syncretized Shintoism and Buddhism and rumored to master all sorts of magic.

Is this particular poison made with magic, then?

Wolf didn’t really have the time to ponder that as the gourd tipped over into his reluctantly open mouth, squeezed open by his father as if he thinks that Wolf would dare try to keep it closed. The sweetness turned out to be pomegranates, and he could taste traces of other things as well, mostly ginseng and... was that soy? But he couldn’t dwell on it much, not when messily gulping down the sweet poison as his father kept shoving it down his throat. Drops flew out at times, and his father made sure not to touch any; most fell on Wolf’s clothing anyways. He gagged on it when the flow became too great— just how much was in that gourd?!— but his father didn’t relent at all, instead drawing his face up and nearer to take in more and more and more.

Eventually, the gourd ran dry and Wolf’s throat was convulsing around thin air as he made desperate-sounding chokes. His father drew away the gourd as he collapsed onto the ground. “Be grateful it doesn’t kill, boy, although it’s said to make men yearn for death,” Owl warned as Wolf coughed wetly onto the ground, and somehow that’s worse than an actually fatal concoction; he’s heard rumors of a kind of nettle whose long-lasting poison is so painful it drives men to madness. “It is always said that you can attract more flies with honey than with vinegar.”

Well, that particular poison certainly was sweet.

His body felt warm all over, a tingling sensation settling low in his guts. His mouth felt dry, even as he wiped away a bead of drool from it, and he became hyper-aware of the clothes on his skin, the wooden floor beneath him, the stifling air, and the absolutely overbearing presence of his father.

What was happening to him? What was going on?

Wolf’s sight became hazy as it seemed like all of his senses dulled except for his sense of touch working overtime as he took off his scarf. It was hot, too hot for him, and he took off his haori as well, nearly tossing it into the collection of toxins before he could coherently gather his mind together and think again. Whatever he drank, it’s more like a drug then, he reasoned, maybe some mind-altering substance that warped perception of the physical wo—

“It’s an aphrodisiac.”

Oh. Oh.

Owl sounded strange when he said that, a rare crack into the inner workings of his mind. He roughly grabbed at his hair, a motion that ripped out a heated groan from Wolf’s lips before he could stop himself. The younger shinobi was breathing heavily, too heavily, and he was torn between struggling away from the patronizing hold or leaning into the touch so he could feel more and more and more.

Now identified as arousal, Wolf couldn’t help squirming his legs around to try and take the edge off of it just a bit, rutting into the air as if he’s nothing more than a sex-crazed animal, and he felt that rumble of a chuckle before he heard it, a deep sound that went straight into his already-erect dick. He’s gasping for breath now, and he’s sure that his pupils are blown wide and dark in desire.

His father let go of his hair, and of course Wolf’s first order of action is to shove his hands past his waistline; he’s needy, he’s desperate, what else is he supposed to do? Nevermind the mortification he’s supposed to feel doing this in front of an audience, even if that audience was just one man that just so happens to be his foster father!

However, no matter how much he tugged at his hardness and stroked himself, his release seemed far far away, and his grunts of pleasure quickly turned into those of frustration, so naturally he had to keep stroking himself harder, keep touching, keep pumping up and down to chase after a sweet release.

“Now, you’ll remember,” is all his father said, and he picked up the day’s lesson on poisons and toxins and venoms to leave Wolf to his fate.

* * *

 

It took Wolf every bit of strength in his body to limp back to his personal room. The cloth of his clothing kept brushing against his now over-sensitive dick, driving him to his knees far too many times than he’d like to admit to. He’s grateful that Lady Butterfly wasn’t here to bear witness to his indecency, at the very least. Still, that can’t erase how mortifying his current situation is as his mind slowly got used to the constant state of arousal his body is in.

He downed so much; for how long will the aphrodisiac last in his system?

He’s too weak to get up anymore, or maybe he doesn’t have the will to do so anymore as any pursuit of pleasure became meaningless without a method to alleviate the pressure continuously building up within his balls.

He knew he missed supper when the door to his room slid open and Owl’s head poked in. He knows that he looks like pure desperation, that he’s making his own room smell like poorly-restrained sex and buckets of sweat as he lies naked on the floor.

“F-father, please!” The plea slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it, and he expected some verbal admonition or even a physical punishment, but instead he simply walked closer to him.

“What do you want, Wolf?” He asked, low and rough as if Owl’s voice alone can make him cum, and Wolf positively moaned at that thought, casting all pretenses of decency and shame out of the window.

“I-I need—“

“No, boy.” His father came closer and cupped his balls with one giant hand, and Wolf became acutely aware of how that one hand can probably wrap around his small waist alone even as they squeezed enough to make Wolf cry out in pain. “You don’t know how it is to need yet.”

The touch was like fire, burning hot and heating every part of his body, and yet Wolf needs— no, wants even more, no matter how selfish that sentiment is. “Father, please, help me.” Anything else after that lone petition was nothing more than his lewd sounds, high-pitched and whiny enough that even Wolf couldn’t recognize his own voice anymore.

Concentrated on his own pleasure, he failed to hear and see and sense literally anything else until he felt what surely must be Owl’s slick cock rub in the cleft between his cheeks.

The sheer sensation alone was enough to marginally pull Wolf out of his lust-filled stupor. Clarity entered his mind, just enough to fear… that it can’t fit in him, of all things. Still, he knew better than to complain. Begging his father for this (that is what he did, right?) in the first place was already risky enough.

“Turn around, onto your hands and knees,” he ordered gruffly, and Wolf obediently did as he was told. He felt exposed, the colder air brushing against his throbbing dick as he yearned for more, more touch, something more inside; he couldn’t help but lean in closer to his father’s oil-slicked hardness, unable to help the groan he murmured out. His dark hair pooled loosely around his head, a stark contrast against his father’s white.

He leaned in closer, until his mouth was just a hair’s breadth away from his ear, and every vibration of sound sent from him definitely went straight to his aching cock. “Like a bitch in heat, a slut desperate to be bred. I thought you had more control than this, cub.”

Wolf whimpered in response, ashamed less by his own state and actions than by Owl’s admonishing words. It’s not his fault that he can’t stop gyrating his hips to feel the slide of a large cock on his ass and back— oh heavens it’s so big.

“Be good and don’t beg like one, at least. People are not above using even sex to torture a shinobi,” his father said, and of course he could somehow rope this into another lesson, one that Wolf currently has no qualms about participating in. “And also—“

A hand slammed into his waist, and Wolf released a pained cry as he was pinned fully into the tatami. He isn’t sure what to feel or think about with the echoes of a rare chuckle from his father thrumming in his chest as his mouth left his ear, his spoken line sending pleasing shivers down his spine. “I’m the one in control. Not you.”

That statement couldn’t be made any clearer than when Wolf felt a finger jam into his ass. He knows it should hurt, any rough penetration should hurt much more than the pleasure that spiked up his spine. Only the heavy hand kept on his waist kept him from moving as he wished as a cry broke out of his throat, heated and needy.

He recognized the words “tight”, “wet”, “hot”, falling into the air but his mind was too scrambled to decipher any of it and their meanings as his ass constricted around the finger pumping in and out of him.

Two fingers felt so thick already, and it made Wolf feel full in all the best ways he will never admit under the light of day.

Three felt like so much, so so much as Wolf struggled to move his ass closer, to have those fingers deeper within him.

Four was a struggle, a tight fit, but even through his lust-filled daze Wolf knew the immense disparity in size between him and Owl. The preparation was less for Wolf’s comfort, although it certainly didn’t stop his liberal moaning, but to make sure that Owl could even fit in his backside in the first place. His fingers went over a spot inside him that made him keen out loud, a high-pitched sound that wasn’t quite a scream that made him collapse gracelessly onto the floor. An orgasm ripped through his body, although his cock still felt hard, his balls still heavy; he didn’t cum at all.

“Just one touch of your prostate and you already break yourself against the pleasure… although how hard is it to break oneself when you’re already a broken thing, hm?”

Wolf could only groan quietly in response. Owl hummed thoughtfully and drew his fingers out all at once, and the young man cried out in loss. “Father, no, please—“

“Impatient cub.” As Wolf tries to raise his head his father pushed it back down. He’s panicking by now; he needs that warmth, the pressure, the fullness back inside of him but he’s empty, he’s nothing, he wants, he’s starving.

Owl has moved again, he realizes belatedly as his giant erection rubs against his lips. He’s shed the clothing on the lower half of his body, now bare. The thick hairs on his legs chaff against his skin.

His hand is on Wolf’s head again, bringing him closer as he pushes the jar of oil into his hands. “You know what to do, boy.”

He doesn’t, but it doesn’t matter when he’s already dipping his fingers in the oil and running his tongue over Owl’s member. The musky scent makes him feel heady. His mind is sinking back into that lust-filled haze, and he can’t say that he hates it. Only his father’s hand on his head is able to anchor him to the physical world.

He’s surprisingly gentle, and except a pull on his hair when he let his teeth brush against the silky skin he lets Wolf learn on his own. No pushing, no shoving, just large fingers carding through his hair as he licked and slurped on him.

He’s empty inside still, but as he opens his mouth to fit the head of his father’s dick inside, his other hole is filled and suddenly everything feels...

Well. Not right. Not quite right, not yet, but close enough.

He uses his thin yet calloused hands stroke over the plenty of length left that his lips alone couldn’t reach, and that finally elicits a reaction out of Owl, even if it’s nothing more than a low groan.

“Suck.”

He does, even as the large girth makes it awkward to do so, careful to keep his teeth away and let his lips and tongue do the work. There’s no time to be self-conscious about his amateur work, not while savoring the weight inside his mouth and sucking ever drop of pre-cum that dribbles out. Bobbing his head is almost an afterthought, but trying to take him in deeper makes his jaws ache too much.

“Enough, boy,” Owl orders and Wolf isn’t sure whether to be happy to comply or lament his emptiness once more, but he does as he’s told and pulls himself off of Owl’s dick. His lips make a wet, lewd-sounding pop, a sound that makes him shiver, and he looks up at Owl.

What does he see? A debauched young man desperate for a lay? The boy he found in the battlefield all those years ago? A sack of meat to find pleasure in? Maybe nothing, nothing at all.

Of course, his small moment of lucidness only lasts so long until his waist is dwarfed by those large hands again, and Owl pulls him upright and closer to him until they’re chest to chest. He’ll be broken, and pieces back together on his cock. It’d be poetic if his own isn’t aching and wet and constantly making its own dribble of pre and if he isn’t delirious from pleasure.

Owl shoves in two fingers back in his ass and Wolf muffles his cry by biting on his lips hard enough to bleed. The haze is starting to clear finally...

“Relax, boy, or you really will tear,” Owl grumbles, and Wolf is brought back down under as the bulbous head pierced through his tight ring of muscle.

It’s _so much_ , enough to hurt even with copious amounts of preparation, but that doesn’t stop him as he wails wantonly. He tastes salt on his tongue and he’s panting, and it feels _good_ , it feels _right_ to feel full and satisfied and hot and used like this. Owl pushes in slowly, his foster son too weak and delirious to give him any input of his own, and Wolf oddly thinks of it like sheathing a sword into its scabbard after having it out too long: strange, and yet right.

“Father!” He keens as his body is pulled further onto his father’s cock. The other doesn’t respond except for occasional grunts, his tight passage making way for a girth and length that almost hurts Wolf’s mind to think too much on. He focuses his being in the pressure inside him, choking back sobs until his father bottoms out inside him.

A finger rubs over his stomach, and Wolf opens eyes he never realized he squeezed shut in the first place and looks down, and moans again at the sight he’s greeted with. His skin bulges obscenely around Owl’s length, and he tentatively takes his own hand and rubs over it.

The motion causes Owl’s dick to jerk inside him, and he can feel the heat throbbing at the same rhythm Owl’s heart beats.

His own heart drops when Owl starts to pull out, and he claws at the other’s clothed chest with blunt nails as he incoherently sobs a chain of “no”s and “please”s and “more”s, and it causes a deep rumble in Owl’s chest that Wolf feels more than sees. He’s laughing. He’s actually laughing, and fingers card through his hair once more before dropping back to his waist. “Didn’t I tell you to not beg?” He sounds more amused than angry, but it makes Wolf tense up in fear.

“Y-yes... Father...”

“So what are you going to do now?” It’s as if Wolf is still a child, scolded and talked down like this, and it’s both humiliating and arousing.

“N-not... I won’t beg, Father. I-I-I’ll...” he swallows his own spit and attempts to calm down from his heightened spirits, going back into something that resembled deeper, more normal breaths. “I’ll be good,” he finished quietly.

“Mm.”

He’ll obey, he swears, and so when Owl pulls out until only his head is inside him, he doesn’t complain and instead focuses on breathing than the pleasure. Immediately, he’s rewarded with an upward thrust that fully sheathes Owl inside Wolf, and it practically punches a keening wail from the younger man. There’s nothing to let it echo from, the tatami mats swallowing it all, although the paper walls serve them no favors; a good thing they are alone, then. Although, even if they weren’t, Wolf wouldn’t mind, right?

It’s when he’s loose enough so that the pleasure is real, probably, that his father truly fucks up to him, and him bouncing up and down on his cock in turn. Wolf is sobbing wordlessly now, gripping tightly onto Owl’s clothing to find something to hold on to and give himself the illusion of control. He’s so big, always been big but only now does Wolf truly feel it so intimately. The haze closes in again and he can’t think, can’t speak, his moans torn out from his throat.

The heat that’s been stuck low inside him for so long is uncoiling now as Owl’s cock practically abused that part within him that makes his toes curl and sight explode into white hot blanks. He is fully empty at one point, he can remember, and he cries but doesn’t beg, as Owl bade him to do, and he finds himself pressed back to the floor, ass up and his own member leaking pre into a small wet spot beneath him. A hand curls around the base, and Wolf bites his tongue to prevent yet another pleading babble from escaping.

Owl pounds into him, somehow reaching deeper than before, and were it not for the hands holding him up he’s have collapsed listlessly. As it is, he’s breaking apart, and by the gods he loves it.

The thrusts become more erratic and less rhythmic, fucking deep into him and brushing against the sweet spot when Owl shoves in deep enough for his heavy balls to slap against him. Wolf can really feel the ropes of cum pouring into him and he moans loudly, clawing at the tatami. His father thrusts in a few more times as if to fuck his seed deeper into Wolf before he stills.

Wolf doesn’t realize he came until he feels the somehow empty relief and the puddle of off-white on the ground beneath him when he dared to open his eyes and gaze through the tear-stained blur he sees. Of course, his stomach looks as bloated as he feels, and he moans brokenly as his father pulls out, more semen dribbling out of his wrecked and abused hole.

He bites back complaints, still rising the waves of pleasure that’s diminishing as breathless moments pass by. He collapses fully onto the ground, uncaring that he’s now lying in his own sex-drenched mess.

“Father...” he calls out thoughtlessly. Should he be bold enough to ask? Because he still feels empty, and he’s not sure why.

Something soft covers him, and he hears footsteps leave the room and a closing door.

He’s crying, is his last revelation before darkness overwhelms him.


End file.
